Then It Is Forfeit
by Araiyan
Summary: um...a Faramir childhood fic...slightly AU, deals with abuse, you've been warned.
1. Heavy Is My Heart This Night

Disclaimer: obviously I don't own any of Tolkien's characters (darn!). A/n: this is basically my first fic, and I am finally posting the first chapter! Sorry if this first part is short, but the next part didn't quite fit the way I wanted.anyway. It's slightly deviated from the lovely timeline in the back of RotK, but I needed to change it to fit my story! REVIEW or else I shall.do something drastic, yesssssss.flames will be used to warm my frozen fingers as it is rather cold outside!  
  
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Chapter One: Heavy Is My Heart This Night  
  
A chill wind blew fiercely, sending leaves and other debris into the streets of Gondor. Rain and hail pounded on the roofs of the city. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the sole figure with the mind, or the foolishness, to be out in such weather, revealing the worry and apprehension in his eyes.  
  
"Has there been any change?" the brown-haired man questioned, stepping inside.  
  
"No, my lord. I am afraid it will be quite some time before the child is born," the nurse answered.  
  
The man sighed and began to pace the hall. Many hours later, the nurse returned.  
  
"The lady requests your presence, my lord."  
  
The man quickly rose from the bench on which he had been sitting, and, wordlessly, rushed to be at his wife's side.  
  
"Denethor." Finduilas murmured as he took her hand.  
  
"Finduilas, my love," Denethor began.  
  
"Denethor, something isn't right." Finduilas interrupted. Denethor looked at her worriedly.  
  
"What is wrong?" he asked, fear evident in his voice.  
  
"I am not sure. It feels as though too much time has gone by." Finduilas closed her eyes.  
  
"I don't understand," Denethor whispered. Finduilas was silent.  
  
"Lord, I am afraid I must ask you to leave," the nurse said. Denethor nodded slowly.  
  
"I love you," he said softly, kissing his wife's hand before leaving reluctantly.  
  
The rain began to lighten up some, and a few stars peaked out through a tiny gap in the clouds.  
  
"Lord." A voice broke Denethor's trance. He looked up.  
  
"You have a son," the nurse informed. Denethor smiled slightly. "He is not breathing well on his own yet, but he should be fine soon." A sudden wave of fear and panic swept over Denethor as he remembered his wife's words.  
  
"Finduilas?" he asked. The nurse averted her eyes.  
  
"The birth was very hard on her."  
  
Denethor did not wait for her to finish.  
  
"I must see her," he stated, already running toward his wife's room.  
  
"Finduilas!"  
  
'Denethor.' The word formed on her lips, but no sound escaped them.  
  
"Finduilas, love, don't go!" Denethor pleaded.  
  
"D'n'thor, I am dying." Finduilas's voice was barely audible.  
  
"Do not say such things!"  
  
"D'n'thor." Tears slid down Denethor's cheeks as held tightly onto Finduilas's hand.  
  
"No.! Finduilas." 


	2. You Are Faramir

A/n: First, thank you to my reviewers! All hail thee. ( Secondly, someone said something about Denethor actually seeming human. Lol, well don't worry, that will change, somewhat, in later chapters ;-) *grins evilly* or at least, well, you'll see. Hey look! The star of the story is actually in this chapter! Yay! Oops, I just ruined it. Oh well. Sorry if this chapter is corny *frowns at self*, but hey, I'm entitled to at east one icky gross corny chapter right?? 3rd, I'm soooooooo sorry this took so long to actually post. I was contemplating redoing this chapter, but didn't feel like it, lol. It's kinda, well just read. It's also short.  
  
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Chapter Two: You Are Faramir  
  
"Daddy, do I have a baby brother NOW?" five-year-old Boromir asked innocently. Denethor looked at his son, smiling sadly.  
  
"Yes, you do," he replied, fresh tears threatening to escape his eyes.  
  
"What is wrong, Daddy?"  
  
Denethor knelt down and scooped the young boy into his arms. He began walking.  
  
"Your mother is dead." Denethor whispered into his son's ear.  
  
"But, Daddy, mommy can't be dead." the child looked up at his father, tears welling in his eyes. A single tear fell down Denethor's face.  
  
"Noooo!" Boromir screamed, his tears beginning to cascade down his cheeks. Denethor pulled his son's head to his shoulder, stroking the boy's dark golden hair.  
  
"Shh, I know, my child. I know," he murmured softly.  
  
Denethor sat on his son's bed, rocking him gently, his chin resting on the boy's hair. After several long moments, Boromir had finally fallen asleep. Denethor carefully laid him on the bed, so as not to wake the child, and pulled the blankets over him. Denethor stared blankly ahead. Finally, someone quietly pushed the door open.  
  
"My lord?" a young nurse whispered. "Wouldn't you like too see your son?" Denethor nodded, despite himself. The woman brought the small bundle over to him. Denethor cradled the baby in his arms, and looked down at him. The child had keen grey eyes and light brown fluff for hair. Denethor could only stare. He did not smile, he did not frown, he made no sign of his emotion for a long while. Denethor narrowed his eyes at the baby, unable to help but think that the child had killed his wife. As if sensing the dislike in the man's eyes, the baby whimpered.  
  
"You should be asleep, young one," Denethor told the baby.  
  
"Can I hold him, daddy?" a curious voice asked from the bed. Denethor looked to his elder son and smiled.  
  
"Not yet my son," he answered.  
  
"But, I wanna see!" Boromir pouted. Denethor chuckled softly.  
  
"Did I say you couldn't see?" He motioned for his son to come sit nearer, where he could see.  
  
The five year old peered in wonder at the small child nestled in his father's arms.  
  
"You are Faramir," he told the newborn, pointing. His father had told him what the child's name would be months before; he had been dying to know. Little Faramir grabbed Boromir's finger and wrapped his own tiny pink fingers around it.  
  
"Hey!" Boromir said, somewhat indignantly, but his eyes sparkled. Faramir looked up at him, wide-eyed, but did not cry. Boromir looked up at his father, smiling.  
  
"I think he likes me okay," he told Denethor.  
  
"Perhaps he does," Denethor replied. "But, I think it is now past time for you to go to sleep. Both of you," he added, rising to leave.  
  
Boromir tried unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn. "Okay, Daddy, but I'm not tired."  
  
"Of course not." 


	3. Author's Note

Ohhhhhhhhhh my god, I'm so hugely sorry for the uber delay! I have major writers block coupled with the fact that 2 year olds don't do that much! So I promise I'll have something soon!! Snow day tomorrow!! YAY!! Maybe then? 


	4. Innocence of Youth

A/n: aha!! I have overcome the system, er, writer's block!! Sorry if this chapter is not the best (tell me, do I need to stop apologizing?).I mean, seriously, there is like nothing two year olds do!! Ai! Yeah, so it skips a little. But hopefully now I will post more chapters in quicker succession!! So, without further ado.!  
  
Chapter 3: Innocence of Youth  
  
Denethor looked down exasperatedly as his youngest tugged softly at his sleeve.  
  
"What is it now, Faramir?" he asked with impatience.  
  
"Play?" the two-year-old asked expectantly.  
  
"No," Denethor nearly growled, frustrated because he had been interrupted for such a seemingly trivial inquiry.  
  
Faramir's lip trembled slightly; he did not understand what he had done to make his father angry. He stared wide-eyed at the harsh Steward of Gondor.  
  
"P'ease?" Faramir tried once more, this time a bit uncertainly, but with his young heart hopeful.  
  
"For the last time, no!" Denethor responded, irritated by the constant repertoire of questions and requests which seemed to issue from the toddler's mouth.  
  
Even Faramir's dense two-year-old mind did not need to be told again. He teetered from the room as fast as his small legs would allow.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
*3 years later*  
  
Faramir turned a corner only to quickly retreat back to where he had been coming from. Please, don't let him see me, he pleaded silently.  
  
However, luck did not seem to be on good terms with Faramir at that moment.  
  
"What are you doing here?" Denethor barked.  
  
Faramir couldn't think of a reply which would satisfy his father, so he said simply, "Nothing."  
  
Denethor looked for a moment like he was going to become angry, but then decided it was not worth it at the moment.  
  
Before his father had the chance to change his mind, Faramir hurried off in the opposite direction of his father.  
  
* * *  
  
"Why does father hate me?" Faramir wondered aloud. He was five now and his father had disliked him for as long as his young mind could remember.  
  
"I don't think he hates you." Boromir seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Faramir looked skeptical.  
  
"Yes he does," the stubborn little boy insisted. "He always yells at me."  
  
Boromir looked thoughtful. Incapable of being able to explain that one, he decided to change the subject. "Do you know what?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"I think it is almost time for supper."  
  
Faramir frowned at this, which confused his brother, who could not fathom any reason why anyone would frown at the prospect of a regular meal.  
  
"Boromir?" Faramir's voice was quiet and uncertain.  
  
"Yes?" Boromir turned around, having been headed for the door.  
  
"Did I kill mama?" Faramir's grey eyes shone dejectedly.  
  
"No! Of course not," Boromir answered incredulously. "Who told you that?"  
  
Faramir gave no response.  
  
"No, you didn't kill her. Don't you ever believe that you did," Boromir reinforced.  
  
"Okay." Faramir finally acknowledged, still not quite sure whether what his brother said was true or not. The thought tormented his five-year-old mind.  
  
"Come now. We don't want to be late."  
  
Faramir seemed to consider resisting further, but at last followed his older brother reluctantly out the door.  
  
To my beloved reviewers:  
  
RiverRatRogue - forgive me? Lol, I'm glad you like my story so much though! Dollyrocker - yeah I know she didn't die at childbirth, but after thinking long and hard about the plot of this story I decided, screw appendix A, it will work better if I change the storyline a little bit. And the language part, I'm not Tolkien, so I can't really imitate his language dialect one hundred percent, but I'll try. Also, there don't seem to be many five-year- old's in Tolkien's books. Everyone else - I love you! Keep reviewing. 


	5. Is That A Challenge?

A/n: OMG, I wont even try to make excuses.*hangs head in embarrassment* I'm sooooooooooooooooo incredibly eternally sorry! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed!! I hope I still have readers out there.r/r!  
  
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Chapter Four: Is That A Challenge?  
  
Years passed. Faramir spent much of his time keeping to himself, reading when he was not working on his lessons, which he also enjoyed. His brother, Boromir, now thirteen and quite proud of it, could not understand his younger sibling's love of literature and history. Faramir had tried to enlighten him once, but his explanation had been thoroughly lost on Boromir. Neither brother had forced the subject since, deciding it was not worth the argument. Each privately decided that he was correct and that the other was too stubborn to realize it. But that did not stop Boromir from continually asking Faramir to spar with him.  
  
"Come on, Faramir," Boromir pleaded, holding a sword enticingly in front of his younger brother's face.  
  
Faramir sighed audibly. "You know, you might actually enjoy this book. There is much adventure and such in it. You should try reading for once."  
  
It was Boromir's turn to sigh. "Quite the contrary, dear brother. Why read about battles and the like when instead, you can put that same intensity and excitement into life!?"  
  
Faramir was about to contradict his elder sibling, but Boromir continued before he had the chance.  
  
"Besides, Ii am /ithirteen. Weapons practice is much more entertaining. I would know. Don't you agree, little brother?"  
  
iGreat, now he's going to lord it over me.bagain/b,/i Faramir thought. He was about to tell Boromir exactly what he thought of his age, his weapons practice, and his lordly attitude when who should appear but Denethor. Quickly, but not swiftly enough to be suspicious, Faramir took the proffered sword.  
  
"Ah! Of course, brother! Let us go now to the practice field, shall we?" Faramir said, sending his brother a look which clearly said iplay along./i  
  
Boromir was not paying much attention to the glance his sibling cast in his direction, rather focusing only on his brother's acceptance of the challenge.  
  
"Good! I knew you would come to the right decision."  
  
Faramir mentally rolled his eyes, but outwardly offered a small smile to his brother. Boromir grinned and the two set off toward the practice fields.  
  
"Going to practice with the sword, I suppose?" Denethor asked, looking directly at Boromir proudly, disregarding Faramir entirely.  
  
"Aye, father! Boromir challenged me, and I accepted." Faramir spoke up quickly, trying to sound rather excited about the matter.  
  
Denethor whirled to face his youngest. He was angry that the little brat had the nerve to speak, and his eyes showed his displeasure.  
  
Faramir swallowed, fighting not to take a step backward. He looked squarely at his father, which seemed to exasperate him more.  
  
"Very well. Go on," Denethor said through clenched teeth before striding away without another thought or word.  
  
Faramir relaxed and Boromir looked sidelong at him.  
  
"What was that all about?" he asked in genuine confusion.  
  
"I know not," Faramir answered, staring straight ahead. "Come. Let's not linger here. Haven't we a contest? Or do you renounce your challenge?" Faramir turned to his brother, an unusual look in his eye.  
  
"Never will I renounce I challenge! We shall leave." Boromir looked incredulously at his brother, thinking that perchance the eight-year-old had gone mad.  
  
Faramir smiled angelically, then hurried toward the fields, leaving a relatively bewildered Boromir in his wake.  
  
iAye, he's gone insane. What's gotten into him?/i Boromir wondered briefly, before hurrying after his brother.  
  
* * *  
  
"So nice of you to wait," Boromir muttered when he reached the practice field.  
  
Faramir smirked. "Anytime, dear brother. Anytime. Did you enjoy your run?"  
  
"Of course! No thanks to you." Boromir scowled slightly, miffed that his brother would leave him behind like that.  
  
"Shall we begin?" Boromir inquired, holding his sword at the ready.  
  
"Certainly," Faramir answered, assuming the same position.  
  
"On three then. One. two.THREE!"  
  
On three, the two jumped forward, their swords clashing together with a clang. Boromir attained the offensive, thrusting and attacking. Faramir was forced to focus on defending himself, parrying his brother's attacks. He sidestepped, evading the shiny silver sword of his brother, looking for an opportunity to reverse the roles. However, none presented themselves, and none seemed forthcoming. Faramir was, in the back of his subconscious, growing a bit bored. He continually blocked his brother's strikes, avoiding the attacks rather skillfully for an eight-year-old. After some time, he felt his back against something. A tree.  
  
iDarn, I did it again./i  
  
"Do you yield?!" Boromir asked excitedly, his sword held at Faramir's throat.  
  
"I yield." Faramir said dejectedly, looking away. Boromir sheathed his sword, but noticed the change in his brother's mood.  
  
"Do not be so disheartened, brother. You're only eight."  
  
Faramir made no reply.  
  
"Come on, litter brother. You're still better than most your age."  
  
"Thanks." Faramir muttered under his breath, almost inaudibly. Boromir's lecture was not having the desired effect.  
  
"It matters not. I shall never be as good at swordplay as you," Faramir said, sighing softly.  
  
"Faramir." Boromir began, but Faramir was already hurrying up the hill.  
  
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A/n: yes? No? maybe? r/r! please? 


	6. Fading Light

A/n: No real author's note except I hope I haven't died some horrible death from Cygna-hime's lava pit, over which I'm probably no longer dangling.can't say I blame anyone though. So, without further ado about nothing, the next installment.  
  
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Chapter Five: Fading Light  
  
Faramir ran as fast as he could, which was quite fast for an eight year old. He had hastily replaced the practice sword in the armory, and was currently dashing blindly through the streets of the White City. He dodged out of people's way, not knowing nor really caring where he was going. He just wanted to get away, to be alone. People stared at him as he rushed past, wondering why the child was in such a hurry.  
  
'Perhaps he has found some sort of mischief,' they thought.  
  
Faramir ignored their gazes, if he even noticed them at all. He continued his headlong sprint through the winding streets, ascending at last to the seventh level of Minas Tirith. He stopped, out of breath and gasping for air, resting his hands on his knees. His legs ached from his frenzied flight up the many streets. Once he had recovered control of his breathing, he set off toward the palace, intending to find a quiet corner in the library and perhaps finish the book he was currently reading. Upon reaching the library, Faramir quickly retrieved the book, an interesting account of the battle of Dagor-nuin-Giliath, which was still lying on the table as he had left it. Curling up in a large brownish colored chair, he began to read.  
  
The sun began to sink into the western edge of the horizon, casting its rose colored light across all of Arda. In the east, a few pale stars twinkled in the fading light.  
  
Oblivious to the signal the sun gave, Faramir continued reading, engrossed in the story at hand. Deep in his subconscious, he knew that the evening meal had already commenced. But this thought never surfaced until the sun had disappeared completely, leaving the room dark with only a couple of sparse candles for light. No longer able to see the words carefully scripted on the page, Faramir gently closed the book and placed it on its rightful shelf. It was then he realized that his presence would have been missed at the evening meal.  
  
'For formality's sake only,' Faramir thought cynically. 'Father would lock me in a closet forever if it were socially befitting of a Steward, or anyone for that matter.'  
  
Faramir left the library only to pause in the long stone corridor outside, contemplating whether to arrive quite unfashionably late to the evening meal, or to retreat to his room. He had almost come to a decision when the choice was made for him. Faramir could feel Denethor's warm breath down the back of his neck and instantly tensed.  
  
"How polite of you to grace us with your presence at supper this evening." The lord's voice dripped with unconcealed sarcasm. Faramir turned around to face his father, taking the words, however mocking, as a cue.  
  
The Steward of Gondor was livid, fairly shaking with anger. When he next spoke, his voice was naught but a furious whisper.  
  
"Come with me," he all but growled. Then, he roughly grabbed his youngest's wrist and set off briskly down the silent, empty hallway, leaving Faramir no choice but to follow.  
  
"Father.?" Faramir ventured fearfully.  
  
"Shut up, you insolent child!" Denethor admonished trough clenched teeth, walking faster, dragging Faramir behind him.  
  
Upon reaching his own private chambers, Denethor insensitively pushed Faramir through the wooden doorframe. He might have slammed the door closed but for the noise it would have caused. Then he whirled to face his son. He opened his mouth as though to speak, but closed it again. He was having an inner debate, too infuriated to even formulate a coherent accusation.  
  
"You completely missed the evening meal. Do you have ANY idea how inappropriate that is? And what's worse! The delegates from Rohan had arrived this evening. Your formal attendance was required! How am I supposed to explain that my youngest is off someplace, where exactly I was not informed, and obviously refuses to dine tonight, despite my requests. That is unspeakably inconsiderate, downright disrespectful, and it makes ME look irresponsible!" Denethor ranted, his voice rising.  
  
"I'm sorry." Faramir whispered, his gaze fixed firmly on the marble floor beneath his feet. "I forgot." Faramir did not actually utter the latter half, his voice died in his throat as his lips moved soundlessly.  
  
"I don't understand you! How did you come to be so foolish?! Why can't you be like your brother? He has sense."  
  
Faramir blinked hard, silently admitting this truth to himself.  
  
"I thought - no, I know you were taught manners. Perhaps you do not wish to exhibit them." A new realization seemed to glow in Denethor's steely, dark eyes. "You're naught but a disobedient, rebellious inconvenience!"  
  
Not bothering to stop himself, the Steward backhanded his youngest across the cheek, his heavy ring leaving a trail of crimson from which blood immediately began to well up and trickle down the side of his face.  
  
Faramir stared in terrified wonder at the man who was supposed to be his father. His lower lip trembled and his eyes were bright with unshed tears. His mouth opened slightly and he looked into his father's eyes. All he saw there was a burning hatred and disappointment. Choking back a sob and a gasp, Faramir fled from the room.  
  
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A/n: To my reviewers from chapters 4 & 5.  
  
Cygna-hime: thanks for telling me you think I'm making Faramir into movie- Faramir. I definitely don't want that to happen! I hope this chapter is better, if not, I'll try harder in the next chapter!  
  
Lothlorien Leaf: glad you liked it. If you have had success with italics and such on ffn, please tell me! They obviously hate me. :P  
  
Susan: Ah, perhaps my most faithful reviewer thus far. If you have stuck with this story, I hope this chapter was worth it. (meh, it probably wasn't worth the wait, but yeah.sorry, lol)  
  
Klaw: I'm happy you like it!  
  
Elessar King: you make me blush.lol  
  
Arien Laurelin: did you change your name? b/c it threw me off a bit for a moment.anyways, being a sucker for the facts is definitely not a bad thing! Hope you still like.  
  
Anyways, thanks to everyone who will actually read this new chapter. I saw Return of the King recently.I think it was food for thought, so to speak. Man, Denethor is a such a ^%$#@$!!! Don't forget to review please! 


	7. Tears on the Petals of a Blood Red Rose

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Chapter Six: Tears on the Petals of a Blood Red Rose  
  
Faramir allowed the tears of pain and rejection to roll down his cheeks as he ran toward his room. He knew that he had more than likely angered Denethor even more, but the harsh reality of what had just occurred spurred him into flight. He ducked into his room and sank against the wooden door as is closed. He tried to calm himself, to master his tears and ragged breaths, and still his shaking shoulders, but the words his father had spoken continuously ran through his mind.  
  
How did you come to be so foolish?!  
  
Why can't you be like your brother?  
  
At this, the tears started anew. Faramir had tried to be like his brother, he really had. But he could not bring himself to love the things that Boromir did, at least not with the same magnitude of love. He tried to be good at fighting and other such things, but the cold hard truth was that he would never be as good as his elder brother. But still, he tried to win his father's approval.  
  
'Why couldn't I have been like my brother? I wish I were like him, too...'  
  
Faramir hastily untied his boots and yanked them off his feet. He went to the window and knelt beside the sill, folding his arms on top of the wood and resting his chin on his arms.  
  
Outside, the world was calm and peaceful. The people of the city were finishing the last of their daily chores or were already inside enjoying a hot meal or tea with their families. The soft sounds of early night floated on a warm and gentle autumn breeze. Stars shone brightly overhead, tiny diamonds illuminating the black velvet sky.  
  
Suddenly, an idea formed inside Faramir's anguished mind.  
  
Run.  
  
Faramir's head shot up.  
  
Run away. You're not wanted here. Your father hates you. Your family is ashamed of you. Do them one good deed. Run.  
  
Faramir nodded to himself. He pulled his boots back on his feet, retying the laces with trembling fingers. After two tries, he deemed them satisfactorily secure. Then he waited. And waited. And waited, until at long last every candle was extinguished as far as he could see. Quietly, he crept out of his room and snuck toward the door.  
  
Guards. How could he have forgotten? Faramir pressed himself to the wall, concealing himself in the shadows. He needed a plan. It would be impossible to slip past the guards and out the heavy doors. But time was of the essence, and the eight-year-old's mind was working at a league-a-minute in his panicked but determined state.  
  
Quickly conjuring a few fresh tears, Faramir tiptoed timidly toward the door. Sure enough, one of the guards heard the soft footsteps and turned to find the Steward's young son.  
  
"Why, young Master Faramir, what has you out of bed wandering these halls at such a late hour?"  
  
Faramir looked up, teary-eyed and apprehensive. "Um, I left something outside...and you see, it's awfully important, and..." Faramir whispered pleadingly.  
  
The guard, thinking of his own young child, smiled thoughtfully. "Oh, I see. And now you must retrieve said something, or terrible things will happen?"  
  
Faramir studied the ground and nodded.  
  
"Ah, well, I suppose that if the young lord commands it, I must open the door."  
  
Faramir looked up, slightly surprised that his hastily formulated plan had succeeded so easily. "Oh! Would you?"  
  
As an answer, the door was opened. Barely containing his surprise and delight, Faramir all but ran through the archway.  
  
As soon as he was outside, Faramir did begin to run. He did not pause, only continued to run, until he came upon the armory. Faramir was young, but he was not stupid. No one in their right mind would run away without a weapon. Come to think of it, no one out of their mind would overlook a weapon either. So the clever child snuck around to a back window which had been broken several years prior, which no one had gotten around to fixing. Consequently, it was the ideal entrance for a juvenile midnight adventurer. Landing inside the armory, Faramir instinctively made his way toward the wall where he knew the practice swords were kept. Carefully removing one from its resting place, Faramir strapped the blade to his waist and crawled back through the window. Swiftly, he made his way through the levels of the tiered city, arriving at the gate just before dawn.  
  
Another dilemma. Surely these guards would not fall for the "I left something out there" excuse, as it was highly unlikely that a young child would be playing outside the city. As it were, Faramir settled in a dark corner within viewing distance of the Gate, and there he waited.  
  
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A/n: Again apologies...This time I swear that the next chapter will be available soon, on pain of death! In all seriousness, it is partially written, and hopefully it will be published on Tuesday or Wednesday.  
  
Cygna-hime: No! Not iron manacles! Besides, do I look like Maedhros to YOU?? Just joking. At first I thought book Denethor wouldn't hit Faramir, but I reread Return of the King, and I had forgotten how completely horrible old Denethor is. Now granted, I agree, it wouldn't be the Done thing...but where's the fun in that, eh? ;-)  
  
Mythwen: Nope not quite over...in fact, is the end in sight? Well, just barely, if you have elven eyesight...  
  
Shinigami061: Yup, Denethor is an @$$. I think that pretty much sums it all up.  
  
Tears of Telperion: Favorites? *sniffle* you're too kind. :) Yeah, I just wanted to hug Faramir watching RotK...poor kid  
  
Viresse430: Eh, I was rather miffed at PJ for making Faramir such a jerk in TTT, that was my major qualm with movie Faramir. He got better in RotK though. :)  
  
For the rest of you, please r/r! Then you can have your own nice little note thingie right there!! 


	8. Night, Labyrinth, & a Dawnless Sunrise

A/N: This chapter is a bit different. Thanks to Elisabeth for the suggestion!

Chapter Seven: Night, Labyrinth, and a Dawnless Sunrise

The sun had set some time ago, and the rather inadequate seeming room which Denethor has claimed as his study was dark, save for a small corner of the room which was illuminated by the soft glow of a solitary candle. In the flickering shadows the steward sat, outwardly catatonic, the pale orange flames dancing across his contemplative countenance.

Darkness provides an ideal breeding ground for brooding thoughts, and these were exactly the thoughts which swirled arbitrarily in the Lord of Gondor's head.

'_Dinner...the delegation...wine, high spirits...his son's empty chair...' _

Denethor continued to stare without seeing at the candle.

'_Wine, yes, I drank...Where was Faramir? Where was that accursed boy?_

'_Accursed?_

'_Yes, yes accursed is what he is! An ill stroke of fortune upon my house. The demise of my beloved._

'_Surely this cannot be true?_

'_Of course it is true! If it were not for his birth my beautiful Finduilas would still be alive. _

'_Though she did not conceive this child alone..._

'_Nay perhaps she...no, I mustn't think such slanderous thoughts, it is not befitting of me nor her memory. _

'_You struck your own child._

'_Aye, and with good reason I say! The insolent brat refused to attend an important social function after being explicitly requested to be present!_

'_And that is reason enough to strike him? He is but eight. _

'_He should have been responsible._

'_You speak of responsibility, but you have still to conjure a reason for this madness._

'_I have said, he killed my wife! Killed her!_

'_So you believe, or wish to believe, though you know well the falsehood in the statement. There can be no blame in her death._

'_What do you know?! There can and there is!_

'_Is there? Nay, there is none. All would be guiltless in the matter. There are those who would lay the blame on a child and carry out their anger upon their own flesh and blood. Is that what you want?_

'_Nay! Who would desire to do such a thing?'_

A deafening silence filled the gloomy shadows. It seemed that every living creature had ceased its nightly routine. No cricket chirped. No voice laughed merrily from below in the once happy city. Not even the wind whispered.

'_I have struck a child._

'_That you have._

'_I am no father. How my son must hate me so! _

'_Nay, perhaps not yet._

'_Oh, what have I done?' _

Suddenly, the steward blinked, his eyes focusing in the dim light. Slowly, he rose and strode to the window. Gazing out the window, he beheld the stars twinkling cheerfully in the sky. They seemed to mock his inner turmoil, not sparing a care for the indecipherable thoughts of man. Denethor massaged his temples wearily. He repeated softly, "What have I done?"

A/N: Sorry, I completely tore up and repaved my plot. There were some things which seemed to me to be unreasonably improbable which I modified.

Lord Elrond of Hogwarts: Thanks, I'm glad you like it. I wish I could curse fluently in Dwarvish – it would be really handy!

AnathTheGoddess: well, it might be easier on me if you did...

InsomniacBoarder: I'm glad you like it!

Jenn: Thank you. You flatter me!

Anastasia Who: I'm glad you're (or were, lol) enjoying it!

Susan: I'm glad you still like it!

Mythwen: Thanks. You probably just forgot you reviewed due to my lazy, writer's-blocked self!

Cygna-hime: Glad I don't look like Maedhros – could cause severe confusion with the dark lords. "Suitably contrite" I should hope so!

Jennifer: Thanks, I'm glad you liked it!


	9. Ill Luck

A/N: Look! Only like 2 days in between chapters! Yay!

Chapter Eight: Ill Luck

It was easy enough to hide in the shadows while the sun still hid below the horizon. Soon, however, the rosy tendrils of light colored the sky, signaling to the world the beginning of a new day.

Faramir waited rather impatiently in his still obscured corner. Why were no patrols coming or going? Surely there must be some business attended to beyond the stone walls and wooden gates. Were there no messages which needed sent? This prospect worried the young runaway. After all, how was one to run away properly if one could not even pass the front gate?

Faramir's musing was interrupted when his stomach rumbled loudly, effectively reminding the boy that he had not thought to bring anything along for breakfast.

_No matter, _Faramir thought to himself, _I'll just catch something once I'm outside the city. _

Apparently his stomach didn't quite agree with this plan, and protested.

Faramir ignored his stomach and continued to watch the gate silently, waiting for a messenger or a group of soldiers to arrive. An hour passed, then two. The boy's stomach had given up its attempts to alert the child to its emptiness. The guard changed, and still no one required that the great gate be opened. The sun rose high in the sky. There were no longer any shadows large enough to sufficiently conceal the boy. This fact concerned Faramir. What if someone saw him before he had time to escape?

At the palace, an apprehensive Steward could be found pacing back and forth in front of his desk in the same study in which he had sought to organize his thoughts the night before.

That morning, his youngest son was again not present at breakfast. The child could not be found in his room, or indeed, anywhere else one might search! It gave the impression that the boy had simply vanished into thin air!

At first, Denethor was irate, furious that his son would disappear in such a manner. But as the minutes stretched into hours, worry slowly replaced anger. Where had the boy gone?

When midday came and the child was still missing, the steward ordered the rest of the city to be searched, deeming that the boy had obviously escaped the palace somehow.

Denethor sat down heavily on his throne, and put his head in his hands. How had all this happened?

It was at this time well past noon, and Faramir's hunger had returned in earnest. The boy was beginning to question the wisdom in leaving, seeing as he had not succeeded in slipping out of the city, nor had he thought to bring any food with him when he snuck hastily through the city the previous night.

Just as he was beginning to entertain the notion of returning to the palace, Faramir saw his chance. A rider came to the gate; then, after a small conversation with the rider, a guard called for the gate to be opened. The messenger nodded to the guard, and spurred his horse forward. Faramir, careful to be quiet as he could be, crept swiftly along the wall. He was nearly out; his goal was nearly accomplished! Suddenly, a voice behind him ended his moment of glory.

"What's this? How did you come to be here, little one? Surely this is not a good place for you to be," one of the guards said. Faramir said nothing in response.

"What's your name?" The guard inquired. Faramir was, again, silent.

"Why, that's the Steward's son!" Another exclaimed.

"Aye! So it is! There have been many looking for you, young sir, and now, it seems as if the task is complete! Let us get you back to your father."

The guards did not seem to notice that this suggestion did not appeal to the child. Soon, to his dismay, Faramir found himself being led back up through the winding tiered city.

A/N: Sorry if you wanted Faramir to escape...maybe he'll manage to sneak away...no promises though. R/R!

Lord Elrond of Hogwarts: Thanks, I'm glad you liked it!

Raina: Thanks! Yeah, old Denethor is somewhat crazy but he has his moments!

Jaimi: Sorry, not out of the city today...Glad you like it though!

Padawannabe: The best on the entire site? blush Thanks!


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